


Catnapping

by casinotaur



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Gen, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Trans Character, but in the real fucking way not in the weird conservative narrative way, detransitioning, i am too tired to edit this tbh lmao ill take a nap and try later, no beta we die like zagreus, ok listen all the pairings except for charon/hermes are strictly transactional lmao, sex work is real work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casinotaur/pseuds/casinotaur
Summary: Too slow’s been his M.O. since he moseyed out the womb, the tease he heard the most on the schoolyard, and the rebuke his business-obsessed family would tell him. But in the club? Too slow got Hypnos paid.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game), Hermes/Hypnos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	Catnapping

Hypnos ordered two mild beef patties at the subway station’s bakeshop. They were $1.25 each and usually filled him up enough to last for at least half a shift. If he needed a top-up he would pop over to the next door bodega and load up on chalky protein bars: only 75 cents, or three for $2. They probably cost even less in bulk at a big-box store, but Hypnos liked trudging around there on his breaks. Gave him something to do besides gossip in the dressing room or loiter in the parking lot. He always hoped to pet the fluffy tabby dozing on the dusty bags of flour, but half the time it was somewhere else: Hypnos imagined it had its own secret job. Exterminating rats part-time maybe. Catching them straight from their hidey holes with its hidden claws and gobbling them right up, leaving no nightmares for people to come across later. Or maybe it wasn’t that kind of cat and instead whiled its hours like he did; on its back, on its hands and knees, and on other people’s laps. Probably not twisted around brass like cinnamon strudel, though.

Cinnamon strudel at the subway station was $3.50, otherwise Hypnos would order it. He could eat a bucket full of strudel, especially when he was on blue cheese or pink bubba. They made his arms and legs loosey goosey, like all the bones in them had decided, “You know what? Fuck this” and bounced. So maybe those are his off-hour plans today, getting spacey with some pastries. He was tempted to add them to his patty order, but decided to wait until his later commute. By then, he’d know for sure if he could afford the indulgence. 

“Throw your ones up in the air,” Drake said. “Throw your ones up in the air for her.”

Hypnos was more polite. He handed the check-out girl $4 in ones — $2.50 for the patties and $1.50 for roughly 40% tip, he’s not sure, it’s somewhere around there probably — and turned down [ the playlist ](https://twitter.com/casinotaur/status/1360012393166893056) blaring in his ear as he left to say goodbye. The next four songs were all Drake, so no need to stress over missing a few bars. Hypnos probably should be sick of the guy, but something about “Houstatlantavegas” struck a secret chord in his heart. It’s a damn good stripper song and one of his faves for stage, but too slow to play in the club during hot hours. Good thing Hypnos is on the day shift. 

Too slow’s been his M.O. since he moseyed out the womb, the tease he heard the most on the schoolyard, and the rebuke his business-obsessed family would tell him. But in the club? Too slow got Hypnos paid. He would drive them crazy with how sweetly he’d circle his ass down. Like bringing a pot to simmer over low heat kind of slow. Or the clock’s hands counting out a hard day kind of slow. 

Hypnos wouldn’t know: What made a day hard? If he thought about it, he was never sure what people meant when they complained about a hard day. How could a unit of time be challenging? A day was a day. What was hard was what happened: a series of annoyances or a stressful conversation. A shitty incident or an unspeakable tragedy. It’s why when people asked “Hypnos, how was your day?” He’d describe how he felt about the passage of time, any passage of time really, that put more distance between him and five years ago. “It was great!” 

He wished they were more specific. “Hypnos, can you share how exhausting it was back when you worked a vanilla job and literally slept at your desk at night just to make sure you wouldn’t be late for work the next day?” Then he might be on the question’s wavelength. Those were some hard days. 

Hypnos carried on with his 40-minute commute for his six-hour shift. Hopped the turnstile because $2.50, twice or more a day, every day, was bullshit. Dug out his G-String on the H Train, tipped the wild-haired goth dude busking at the big intersection by the dumb condos where his favourite coffee shop used to be. Rounded the back of House of Hades. Entered and once he took off his civvies and settled in, greeted his co-workers as he always did.

“Last night I dreamt of that lavender body lotion Hermes lifted from Sephora,” Hypnos said. “Just up-ending the bottle and splat! Covered head-to-toe in the gunk, right on stage.”

Dusa laughed, stretching fishnets on. “Hermes would totally kill you if you actually tried that!” 

“No, his boyfriend would,” Megaera told them, as she aloe veraed her edges. “I bet Hermes would frame someone for your death.”

“TBH Meg, that somebody would likely be you.”

“Fair,” Megaera said. Hypnos liked when all three dancers worked the day shift. Megara reminded him of the grouchy, but loving big sisters on weeknight sitcoms and Dusa was like the ordinary girls with magical powers in the anime shows he’d torrent. They were better earners than him, but not monopoly money like Hermes and other big-timers. Actually, Monopoly would be a fun game to bring to the lockers. Not as easy to start up as card games though. 

Hypnos forgot to bring his deck or his pleasers, yet again. Good thing Dusa was the same size. If he was honest, he liked Dusa’s loaners more. She had this sturdy scarlet velvet number with pompoms that felt like heaven on his toes. His pleasers were $40.55, on sale for 30% off, and further discounted by his stripper discount at the local sex shop. The material was made of PVC and gave him aches and bunions every time he wore them. 

He didn’t know you were supposed to bring someone to make sure you walked good _and_ felt good in footwear you’d end up wearing for hundreds of hours. Next time he’d ask Than. 

Achilles stepped in and did his funky little bow to all of them, making his gold nipple pasties jingle. The overhead fluorescent didn’t hide how weary he looked, but it softened into a heavy-lidded gaze under the club’s lights. He got his red gatorade from his locker and joined their chat. 

Hypnos learned that everyone had fun dreams last night. Achilles dreamt he was an unkillable soldier until he wasn’t. Dusa could turn people to stone with her snake hair. Megaera thought she could fire lazers and flew around with one wing.

“That’s all the Final Fantasy,” Hypnos prescribed sagely to them all. “It brainwashed a generation.”

One-by-one, they finished up and headed out. Hypnos made the rounds: _Hey hot stuff, welcome to the House of Hades, where are you from, wanna dance, let me know if you change your mind, how’s your night big guy, welcome to the house, what brings you to town, do you want to dance with me, OK baby, welcome back, I’m so happy to see you again, sexy, let’s dance, all the guys tip, are we doing shots, yes sweetie, Somnus is not my real name let me tell you in VIP, oh you’re funny, thanks baby that tasted good, I would love to dance with you, you know how good it gets, all right honey next time, hey sexy let’s get dance-y..._

Hypnos’ body walked and talked, closer to the entrance so he could get away with dawdling. While his mind drifted around, high above the House and into borderlands of last night. He loved revisiting his dreams. Purple gloop on his pasty skin, getting in his mouth and tasting like, well, lavender. Hermes’ skin maybe. 

Hermes smelled really good lately. Four months on T made him stink amazing after a show, a musk that Hypnos missed on himself. But a month of testosterone shots costs $35 and he could buy so many patties with that much money. Syringes and sharps and alcohol swabs and his favourite holographic band-aids didn’t come free either. Detransitioning because of brokeness sucked, but at least he still had his shrimp dick to fuck around with and a voice that was at a better octave.

“Mind if I cut in, babe?”

“Sure,” Hypnos said, not realizing who he was thinking of was right in front of him and stealing his man. He blinked out of it, like he always did, but Hermes and the customer Hypnos was about to reel were already out of the booth and walking towards VIP. 

Customer poaching was a snake move, but Hermes was a charmer. Hermes made everything charming, with his easy smile and pushed-back hair. He got the pole greasy as fuck with his moisturized thighs, which sucked when Hypnos followed him up. But he was so agile and magical on stage that Hypnos wasn’t too cheesed. 

He’s been told that he has a similar quality anyway. Baby strippers always made funny faces when he gave them advice — “Have you tried doing floorwork that actually gets on the floor?” — but the old hands loved his little pearls of wisdom. Strung them up and served them back to Hypnos sometimes, with snark and love in their voice. Like tonight.

“Gee Somnus, have you tried not catnapping on the job?” Hermes said from behind him, hair slightly tussled. 

“Gosh Mercury, three minutes!” Hypnos said, eyes as wide as his grin. “That’s gotta be a new record for you!” 

They tag-teamed for a bit. Flitted from table to table. Over break, they changed into strappy white two-pieces that made their chests perky and cupped their asses nicely. Men liked it when they matched. It was looks alone, as once they started their routines they were as different as night and day: Hypnos would melt like molasses and draw out teasing one customer at a time, massaging their shoulders and abs with his soft hands. Hermes would rev them up for a quickie and move onto the next one. Hermes, obviously, would make more money. 

Hypnos scrunched up his curls with some of the stolen stash of beauty stuff Hermes kept in his locker: something fancy and french that his bleach-fried hair drank like water. He could feel the strands gulp. Later he could sit around with coconut oil. Marinate his head, maybe even pop some cucumbers on his eyelids while he used a soup spoon to massage his face. 

He told Hermes about his dream. 

“Fun one, hun! You were like [ Harley Quinn in the pudding](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Js_F97Kpe_s),” Hermes said, as he took a security tag off a pair of Yeezys with the fork from his lunch bag. 

“Exactly,” Hypnos said, beaming. 

Hypnos liked Hermes a lot. They were different vibrations, same frequency. Hermes had great dreams too.

“Last I dreamed Charon smoked me. My body was a cigarette and he sucked me in, head first,” Hermes shared as he forked the tag off a Vans backpack. “I woke up horny as fuck.”

“Did you have an erection?” Hypnos asked. “Was it standing?” 

“Not yet hun, I think I’m too early. But check it!” Hermes poked at his chin. “My very first hormonal zit!” Hypnos cheered.

They made it through one circle around the club before the pace got to Hypnos. He plopped into a fuzzy bar seat and stayed there until he needed to go back to the lockers and ready for his set.

It was maybe more of a strippers-only bumper or a goldie oldie for seniors night thing, but when [ Hypnos' song played](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DF43b38k0Mw), he got real cute with it. [ Did lazy spins in his fluffy bathrobe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4b64KyEFVhg), taking off his outfit at a glacial pace: a $49 red halter two-piece that was starting to stretch out, but probably had a few more runs left. He was alternating between it and a sheer teddy that was sometimes scratchy, but got the job done. Maybe if he made enough this week he could stop online window-shopping and buy something new from Annabella or Dreamgirls. (Never Dolls Kill, [ fuck Dolls Kill.](https://www.altpress.com/news/dolls-kill-black-lives-matter-boycotts/)) 

Took his time hauling ass onto the pole. Cheeky pelvic thrusts when the beat dropped. No tricks, those took stamina. Mostly slow hip swivels that really took their time orbiting around the pole. Low flow near the bottom of the pole when he finally bodyrolled his way down. Flashed his pretty cheeks, his nice little crotch, dragged fingers from thighs to nipples and back down again.

Not the most high-energy set, but it got the job done, got the bills on the stage and into his adorable purse kept by the stage’s back wall. But before those bills got him patties and weed and strudel, they’d go to the DJ, the bouncer, the house, and that rent he was a week behind on. 

Hypnos kept shaking his ass as the usual mid-afternoon scene unfolded: Zagreus barged in, decried his father’s workplace conditions, stuffed unionizing brochures in everyone’s lockers, and then was thrown out by security. The regulars kept their eyes on his supple sweetness getting sweaty. The out-of-towners gawked at the howling shirtless man.

(Only last week, Hypnos had discovered that Zagreus was the owner’s estranged son turned labour rights activist and not a disgruntled employee who simply had an hours-long screaming match with the boss one day. 

“I thought he fired you and that was why you left.”

“Hypnos...you think all these times I’ve been kicked out, it’s because I was let go from a miserable job?”

“Why else?”)

On Hypnos’ way down, Achilles nodded as he prepared for his own set, the last before he clocked out. His favourite regular, an equally tired-looking man with immaculate dreads, was already in the front row. Hypnos doesn’t know if Achilles does extras, but if he did it would probably be for that guy. 

Hypnos went on break again, counted up $240, felt better about life, and then popped his CBD gummies. He shared some with Megaera, who had knee pain that she didn’t have time to put heat on. Listened to the newbie whose shift started an hour ago complain. 

“Dusa, I cannot stress enough how irresistible I was out there.”

“Oh sweetie, of course I believe you!” 

“Then why weren’t they making it rain?” Theseus wailed.

Hypnos wondered what kind of rain Theseus would like. Not a drizzle. Not a summer downpour that makes you scream-laugh as you run home. No, for him there would be the world’s biggest, scariest cloud. It would rain so hard and flood the earth so bad that people would call it divine punishment. Two of every animal in a boat, that kind of storm. So wet and gloomy outside, so safe and cozy inside. Each pair snuggled up beside each other for warmth, listening to the steady thrum of drops hitting above and the ocean tides rocking them back and forth...Hypnos yawned. 

When he woke up, he checked his arms for red marks. Force of habit from his old bedbug-infested basement apartment. 

“Wow Somnus, three minutes!” Hermes teased, leaning his chin on his colleague’s shoulder. “That’s gotta be a new record for you!” 

Hypnos smelled banana on his breath. “Can I have some?” 

Hermes peeled open one from the bunch he kept in the fridge and, bit by bit, eased the long fruit between Hypnos’ lips. Hypnos took the inches in, hollowed his cheeks like a good boy. His gag reflex kicked in once Hermes’ fist reached his mouth. He choked, but grabbed his laughing coworker’s wrist to keep him from pulling out. 

“This juvenile foolishness wouldn’t stand in Athens,” Theseus shouted from across the room. 

“Don’t make me tap the sign,” Dusa told him. Everyone looked up. 

**“NO FIGHTING IN THE HOUSE!**

**\- MANAGEMENT.”**

“I thought that was just for Zagreus,” Hypnos said. “And now that he’s gone we can go stupid, no?”

But his voice was muffled by the banana so no one heard him. Hypnos started chewing. Before he could share his chaos with the group, Megaera burst into the room.

“ _He’s_ here,” she said. Everyone’s backs stiffened, so she clarified. “No, not Hades. I mean _him_. The furry.”

Theseus and Hypnos both scrambled for the door. But Theseus was quicker, well, everyone was quicker than Hypnos, so he got there first: the corner farthest from stage, where their shared favourite regular sat. 

Hypnos watched as the former Athens performer climbed the giant’s fursuit like an oak tree. 

“Chin up buttercup,” Hermes said. “Furries aren’t the only big spenders.”

“But they are the _biggest_ spenders,” Hypnos said, lip quibbling. He hugged his bathrobe around him for comfort. 

“Now, now, let’s lose this,” Hermes said, tugging down the loungewear and tossing it behind the bar. “If you keep moving you’ll stay warm. And I know just the thing to cheer you up and get the blood pumping.”

Hermes dashed off and moments later, flashed Hypnos the OK sign.

They found themselves in VIP with a 30-something, someone who Hermes had to give a stern tutting when his hands wandered. “My boyfriend wouldn’t like that, boss,” he warned. The natural charm of Hermes made the usually turn-off line land soft, as their customer behaved himself. Relatively.

“But your boyfriend’s OK with this?” the guy said, gesturing at Hermes and Hypnos. 

“Oh more than OK,” Hermes said, wrapping an arm around his co-worker’s chest and pinching a pert nipple awake. “He knows I’m keeping his little brother out of trouble. You wouldn’t believe the shenanigans this one would get into.”

Hypnos nodded along. He used to nod in the bad kind of way, when an ableist workplace made him want to sleep his life away. NA meetings helped. So did his family easing up. He was glad when Charon’s boyfriend got him the job. It was still challenging and not immune to capitalist bullshit, but remained a line of work that didn’t hurry Hypnos too much. He made coin on a schedule that worked around his pain management. 

“Between the two of us, we’ll find your tempo,” Hermes promised. Hypnos plopped himself down onto the man’s lap as Hermes started his room routine: lots of athletic flexing and hands that end up everywhere. Hips. Ass. Chest. Dick. Thighs. Mouth. Hair. Hypnos squirmed and the customer liked that. Then Hermes leaned close and began to lap at Hypnos’ mouth, hands spreading legs apart as they made out. He squirmed more. The customer really liked that.

Hermes pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva like a wet shiny bridge between them. “What a cutie. What do you say, boss? Can you give him a little more?”

The customer tore his wallet out of his suit jacket. 

Afterwards, Hermes had to jet for a double shift at his home club, a swanky place called Olympus on the other side of town, so Hypnos cleaned up by himself. Took a break to nap on the couch when he got tired of wiping and trashing. Woke up, checked his arms, and greeted the room’s next occupants. 

“Hey Theseus! And helloooo handsome, you’re looking hot as hell today!”

Theseus shooed him out, but the furry seemed pleased to see Hypnos. “Hello Somnus,” he rumbled from within the suit. “How was your day?”

Hypnos thought on it as he hovered by the doorframe. All the ways he could answer it. “You know what? It’s been great!” 

He tipped out shortly after, with a respectable $270.50. Slipped out of Dusa’s pleasers and wiped his makeup off with a Neutrogena wipe from the House’s washroom. Stared at the face his foundation and mascara and lipstick left behind. Kissed it. If he could keep all his used makeup wipes, he could sew them like patchwork into a quilt. Sell it to an art collector. Become rich and pay rent in advance for a year. Pay everyone’s rent. Shit, even the goth dude’s, he probably had rent. Buy his bodega friend some wet food. Get Hermes and Charon a wedding gift one day. Fund some sorta worker’s strike that Zag thought they needed, maybe lower the House fees and make the management’s rules a little laxer. 

Later, with strudel flakes on his mouth and Natsume Yujincho reruns on his laptop screen, Hypnos dreamt he was a god. He lived in a cave full of poppies, but wasn’t allowed to eat them. He could enter people’s dreams, soften their edges or hone them into sharp fanged things. He need only wish it and nations would fall. Wars would end. But when he felt like playing pretend, Hypnos the god could close every one of his eyes except those on his face and make himself a lesser thing; he could laugh and sing and joke and snooze, dreaming the neverending days and nights away in a room filled with strangers and his favourite people in the whole wide world. 

And Hypnos dreamt of his own dreaming: he waded into the head trips of this lesser Hypnos, dreamt his achey pleasers clacked deeper and deeper into this other him. Dreamt this Hypnos grew and grew the closer he got. The he that walked became smaller, slimmer, sweeter. When they were finally face-to-face, this Hypnos reached down and scooped him up, greeting him with a forehead kiss and a scratch behind his ears.

“There you are! Did you have a good dream?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Stripping and bowl life were the only forms of sex work I didn’t do, so I’m probably getting shit wrong. But a lot of this is based on the fun, exhausting, and weird times that were had on the job. Drake songs, cheap food, and good friends got me thru some rough shit lmao. When I try to remember it now, it really does feel dreamy.


End file.
